How Did It Come To This?
by LilFlow
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is an assassin, and a bloody good one at that. But what happens when his next target is the reporter Alfred F. Jones and he ends up getting caught up in this ridiculous young reporter's world? USUK AU
1. Chapter 1

**How did it come to this?**

_Chapter One_

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_It wasn't supposed to happen this way._

_It was supposed to be a simple job. Go in for the kill and then leave when the task was complete. No attachments, no connections. Just kill the bastard and get the fuck out of there._

_But that's not what ended up happening._

_Instead I'm lying here, getting colder and colder as the darkness stings the edges of my vision and steadily grows stronger._

_And he's calling my name._

•••

_Entry 01_

This is the journal of one, Arthur Kirkland.

It was recommended that I use this as a private method of recording my actions while carrying out my respective tasks. And while, initially, it sounds like a ridiculous child's secret diary, I have been told that it will help relieve any built up stress.

And so, I begin.

For starters, I work for a corporation. Not any that is in the public eye, however. Underground secrets are always kept as just that.

I was once a journalist, and a pretty damn good one, I might add. My stories were always taken in high regard by my superiors and my name was known well throughout the business.

And that's where I met Vargas.

Even then he was quite the character. His name was known everywhere, much like my own. He was like an empire all by himself. And that is just what he had built. An underground empire. A dangerous and merciless one that would have one trembling in fear if one knew of it.

But that is not how he works. No, Julius Vargas likes to keep his secrets and that is what originally intrigued me about the man.

He was known everywhere, but at the same time, no one knew him.

My assignment had seemed simple. Find out what the secretive man was really up to. But, as they always say, "curiosity killed the cat". And I was the cat.

And so, Vargas caught me and now I work for him, leaving all that was past behind me.

Arthur Kirkland, the highly thought of journalist, was left far behind, replaced by Arthur Kirkland, the pirate-like underling of the underground tyrant known as Julius Vargas.

Which brings me to today.

Vargas had summoned me to his office, and while this was not an unusual occurrence in itself, they news he brought was.

"Your next job." He had said to me, producing a photograph and sliding it over to me.

It was the usual. Quick assassination and then get out of there while no one suspects.

Or that was what I had assumed.

The photograph was of a man, not long out of college by the looks of him, golden blonde hair, blue eyes covered by glasses. The look of one who was too naïve to know how to read the atmosphere.

"He's a journalist working in the States." Vargas continued rambling, looking all too happy with himself. "And he's getting a little too big for his boots. Wang is looking to get rid of him and requested us to take care of the job."

Wang Yao. Chinese entrepreneur. Known for his shady dealings but never gets his own hands dirty.

"The Russian has already taken care of one of the boy's colleagues. Caused quite a stir. But the tenacious bastards have gotten all the more curious. So we've been called in. And with your _expertise_ in the area of the news, I thought you perfect for the job, Kirkland. You're more subtle than Braginski in any case."

"Anything else I need to know?" I had asked, slightly annoyed at Vargas's assumptions of me. What right did he have to shove me straight back into the world that I had left behind?

"He works for Beilschmidt."

Ah, it would have had to be _him_ wouldn't it?

Albert Beilschmidt, the man responsible for all the investigations into the underworld organisations. It was thanks to him that Vargas has been checked out so many times.

But that wasn't all.

It is a well-known fact amongst our group that Vargas is a rather, well, doting grandfather (even if he doesn't look old enough). Which is especially why any matter concerning this particular newspaper editor grinds at him the worst.

It was Beilschmidt's grandson that caught the attention of Vargas's youngest grandson, Feliciano. And that was that. The two boys had become inseparable and the pasta loving idiot had disappeared to join the other side. He 'preferred the light', someone once said to me.

"Alright." I stood, taking the photo and pocketing it. "And what's the victim's name?"

_Alfred F. Jones._

•••

_Entry 02_

Why? _Why?_ _WHY _did I take this job?

Firstly, I _hate_ flying. Aeroplanes have to be the most uncomfortable form of transport ever invented! Too small seats and someone else's forced back into my face so that I have even less space during the SEVEN AND A HALF HOUR trip.

Needless to say, I exited the plane in New York in a decidedly sour mood.

My ID for the job had been cleared and once again I am a reporter, though this time it's not exactly by choice.

I've had just about enough of writing pretentious stories for the wankers out there who just want to gossip.

Oh, and then there was _him_.

One of Vargas's personal favourites. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

This insufferable Spaniard dotes on the older of Vargas's grandchildren, Lovino. But I have always seen him as just a waste of bloody space.

And now we had been given this goddamn assignment _together_! Him acting as a photographer for Beilschmidt's paper and me as a journalist. What could have possibly made my day any worse?

I'll tell you what.

That bloody, intolerable git!

"Hey! Over here!"

You could have seen him from a mile away, the way he was acting. Waving like a child at his parents on the day of his school play.

This meeting, needless to say, was even worse than I had expected.

This, I am afraid to say, was how I met Alfred F. Jones.

"You're Arthur, right?" He had said, pulling both myself and Antonio out of the crowd of arrivals.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland, yes." I suppose I must have glared at him, the way he recoiled slightly before coming forward again and shaking my hand.

He had a strong grip, I suppose, if there is any compliment I can give him, it is that. And, well, that he was rather good-looking (though comments on my orientation have never been appreciated).

He can't be much younger than me, even if he does look as innocent as a toddler. The gleam in his brilliantly blue eyes was dazzling, and his excitement obvious. Although, that one strand of hair that stubbornly stood bolt upright from the rest of his sunny blonde hair was rather annoying.

"That's great!" He seemed to be fond of shouting, even as he greeted Antonio. "I've got a car waiting to take you to your hotel. The editor says you can start work in the morning."

Thankfully Antonio and I are not sharing rooms, or I fear I would be killing him instead of my real target.

And speaking of which. After that meeting, I must say, Alfred Jones is mostly definitely _not_ want I had in mind.

Vargas never told me _why_ the boy was the target. Wang must be pretty desperate to get rid of him if he hooked us into it, but that still doesn't answer any of my questions.

Work starts in the morning and it goes without saying that I will be working with Jones while I am here.

All the better to find an opportunity to get rid of the sod. His weaknesses will all be on show.

However, given that he has made himself known to that Chinese guy, Jones must be more than meets the eye, otherwise he wouldn't have ended up this deep in shit.

I'm getting some answers starting tomorrow.

•••

_Entry 03_

I think I must have been introduced to everyone working at the newspaper office about seven times.

Saying that Jones is a little eccentric would be the biggest understatement I have ever made.

The boy is like a bloody puppy! Forever excited, and creating endless mess.

He's lucky that he's popular with the rest of the staff. If I had been in charge then he would never have made it past his first day.

Beilschmidt must have been desperate for reporters.

Antonio was whisked away by the other members of the photography department (Beilschmidt's oldest grandson and some French wanker), only too happy to get some time away from the bustle Jones was creating. No doubt he will be causing trouble elsewhere, though.

Beilschmidt, himself, is a serious enough character. Never letting his defences down, even towards his regular employees.

He greeted me with a formal handshake, before informing me that I will indeed be working with Jones in his latest case (the boy certainly had a reputation).

From what I can tell, it is a fairly serious matter as something I did find out was the name of the man Braginski killed.

Heracles Karpusi.

A Greek man working on some top secret case that I am apparently going to be informed of in the near future.

Looks like I am going to get some answers.

•••

_Entry 04_

Apparently, my name as a reporter has lived on while I have been inactive.

Today I spent a good hour and a half trying to convince that oaf, Jones, that I had stopped being a journalist for personal reasons, _not_ because I am secretly an undercover secret agent working for the government to bring down the "bad guys".

Although, I must say that it's a relief knowing that he is completely oblivious to the fact that I am the exact opposite of what he believes.

Git.

Jones's character is rather surprising, really.

He acts like an utter buffoon most of the time, running around like the idiot he is. But then when he sits down to work, he is completely focused. Nothing can distract him.

It's like he is an entirely different person.

It makes me think of how formidable he would be if he were this serious all the time.

But that being said, I am starting to believe that he will not be such an easy target after all.

•••

_Entry 05_

I am going to KILL that bloody frog that Antonio has apparently befriended.

I don't know what that wanker is thinking, letting himself get caught up so bloody easily, but if I find one more object like _that_ in my desk again, I swear all three members of that trio will be hung from their balls in the highest place I can manage.

Briefing on Jones's case to happen tomorrow.

•••

_Entry 06_

Drug dealing.

That's what this is all about.

Nothing like the ordinary bollocks that's usually dealt. This stuff is apparently a lot shadier. Something that'll give the person a kick, but then either leave them a bumbling wreck the next day, or dead.

Jesus, Jones likes to get himself mixed up in shit.

Karpusi had managed to get a lead on Wang's underground dealerships and had started investigating. Unlucky bastard didn't know what hit him when that Russian came calling.

Jones mentioned on the off-hand that the person who had briefed me on the situation had actually been _involved_ with Karpusi. Honda, I think his name was. A Japanese origin, of which Jones appears to be on good terms with (or I assume so, seeing as I overheard him trying to convince the rather timid bloke to play video games with him because it would 'cheer him up').

This is all getting more and more complicated and I'm wondering whether Vargas knows the whole story behind this.

I need more answers, but God knows where I'm going to get them.

Only thing to do now is to follow Jones's lead and see where it takes me.

The more answers I get, the easier the kill will be.

•••

"Artie!"

He came running over to me, laughing as usual and acting like a total buffoon.

"I _told_ you not to call me that, Jones." I growled back, not looking up from my laptop screen.

"And I _told_ you to call my Alfred. But that doesn't matter right now. C'mon."

He grabbed my wrist (the idiot has no concept of personal space) and dragged me away from my work, leading me into one of the offices where Honda was sat quietly, much to the contrast of his friend.

"Ah, good." Honda spoke up, shifting a sheet of paper across the desk. "Mr Beilschmidt asked me to pass this on to the two of you. Top secret information on the case."

"Sweet." Jones snatched the paper, luckily not ripping it. He skimmed over it, his expression getting more and more serious as he went on. "Are you sure about this, Kiku? Like, absolutely, _definitely _sure?"

"I am. This is serious business, Alfred, and it is not to be taken lightly." Honda stood, circling the desk and passing the paper to me. "And we need to make our move before another one of ends up dead."

•••

_Entry 15_

Over a week has passed since Honda located Wang's base.

Although, apparently this information was not as new to him as I had originally thought. Apparently the entirety of Beilschmidt's employees are full of surprises.

Honda is Wang's cousin and has known the details of his business for some time. He is yet _another_ person to decide to work under Beilschmidt instead of hiding away in the dark. And though I loathe saying it, I can see why.

Honda had been spying here for Wang, had apparently gotten involved with Karpusi and then when the man was killed, he secretly decided to start spying on Wang instead.

Like I said, full of surprises.

I would never have imagined that this quiet Asian man was capable of so much secrecy.

He has also said that drug dealing may not be the whole picture. That there must be more to it or they wouldn't send in assassins – people like me, though I'm hoping that they haven't figured that much out yet.

Jones has gotten more serious about the work at hand.

I think the idea of one of them being killed again may have shaken him up a bit. I wonder if he has realised that the next one to go is going to be him.

I would also like to have some insight into what these people are trying to find out. I'm pretty sure that Antonio knows, but isn't letting anything on. Bloody cheek if you ask me. Vargas trusts him far too much.

It pains me, but the boy is really working hard at this case.

He really sees himself as the hero that's going to save people from Wang's doings (the fool). And it's that determination that makes him slightly (though _very_ slightly) endearing. I haven't met someone like him since I left journalism. And even then, the one with that determination was me.

I hate seeing that old part of me in him.

It's ridiculous and too idealistic for my liking anymore.

And for some reason that I cannot fathom. That kind of optimism really works for Jones.

Fuck.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

•••

_Entry 16_

Antonio decided he was going to check on me.

And by this I mean that he decided to threaten me.

"_Why don't you hurry the fuck up and kill the kid?"_

God knows why.

I don't.

•••

_Entry 17_

Never make a bond.

It has always been a rule of mine ever since I joined this business. One cannot be a cold-blooded killer when they still hold affections.

And yet here I am, watching that idiot Jones make a fool of himself on a daily basis and actually _enjoying_ his company!

There's something wrong with me.

Doing this case with him, it's reminded me of what it was like back when I actually was a reporter, not just pretending to be one.

I remember what it was like to feel as if I was delving into the deepest, darkest secrets of the world and then revealing them for all to see. None of that trivial gossip, of course. Only things that would really make a difference.

But it was those thoughts that got me landed with the Vargas case, and now here I am, planning to kill the one who still has that idealism that the world can actually be a good place to live in.

Why does that boy's hope have to be so bloody _contagious_?

It's giving me a headache.

•••

_Entry 25_

Another week has passed. And now after all of the ramblings and rummaging through useless pieces of information, Honda decided it high time to try and infiltrate Wang's company.

Not good.

For one, the guy could have someone killed on sight. That Russian, Braginski, never leaves his side and he's a bloody giant! Could even have Vargas shaking in his boots like his coward of a grandkid if he wanted to.

Secondly, he may trust Honda, but he most certainly won't trust two random strangers that have wandered in with him.

And lastly – the biggest problem - he knows who Jones is.

He'd have him killed on sight.

And while that would save me from having to do it, I would likely get the chop just for being with them.

This seriously isn't going to end well.

•••

"Seriously, man, stop worrying! You're giving me the jitters!" Jones hissed at me.

"Shut it, git." I glowered at him, and straightened my tie again, just for the sake of it.

We were outside Wang's building, Honda leading the way inside. He must've known the corridors like the back of his hand, the way he guided us through without getting caught and questioned by security once.

And no sign of the Russian. Thank _God_!

"You both need to be quiet." He whispered back at us. "We can't let anyone know that we are here until we reach Yao's office."

I glanced at Jones walking next to me. He had tidied himself up surprisingly well. Suit and tie all neat and straight, hair combed (though still sticking up) and shoes polished.

Dammit. Why did he have to brush up so well?

"What is it?" He had caught me looking.

"Nothing." I muttered, willing the heat in my cheeks to disperse.

Honda held up a hand, signalling us to stop as he checked around another corner. "Wait here." He whispered, taking the briefcase Jones had been holding on to, and turned to knock on the closest door. "If something goes wrong, don't think. Just run."

And with that, he turned and entered the room.

I leant with my back against the wall, hoping to catch at least some of the conversation between Honda and my real employer. Jones, however, had other things planned.

"Why aren't we going in with him?" He might as well have shouted.

"Shh!" I hissed, pulling him back from his attempt to follow his colleague. "Stop trying to get yourself killed!"

Wang was talking to Honda about something or another, speaking in very fast Mandarin, Honda making sparse comments in return, clearly marking himself as his cousin's subordinate.

I chanced a glimpse around the doorframe, seeing the layout of Wang's rather large office. His oriental origins were made obvious, the various Chinese furnishings scattered around the room along with the usual office furniture that one would expect to find.

And, right there, stood in the corner watching the two much smaller Asians, was the tall, smiling, but impossibly intimidating Russian, Braginski, overseeing the entire exchange. But lucky for me, he hadn't noticed my movement by the door.

At some point Wang had switched to speaking in English, but continued to speak at such a rate that I almost thought Honda was finding it hard to keep up with him. That was until Honda's expression changed from one of indifference, into immense shock. And I wish for the life of me that I had heard what Wang had said, but something, some_one_, took my attention away just at that moment.

Braginski's gaze had moved, his icy smile fixed on a spot directly above my head.

I glanced up, and in that moment knew exactly what had gone wrong.

Of all the stupid things he could have done, Jones had decided to join me in spying on the conversation, but had evidently _forgotten_ to keep himself hidden. That _idiot!_ His face was in full view of the occupants of the room and he hadn't even noticed!

Honda had also seen Jones's error and was staring at Braginski with wide eyes, with no doubt knowing what was going to happen next.

"If you don't mind me interrupting," Braginski spoke, his grin widening, "it seems that we have some guests."

Wang peered around Honda, managing to catch a glimpse of me pulling Jones back out of view. "Aiyah." He sighed, turning to speak to his henchman, "Take care of them will you."

"No, wait!" Honda stepped in front of Braginski, trying to block his way to the exit.

"Is this a betrayal, Kiku?" Wang's tones had turned sour. "Because I have no need for this kind of behaviour, even if you are family. That person was definitely Jones; now please let Ivan past, aru."

I heard Braginski step around Honda and reach the doorway in just a matter of steps, before he turned and met my glare with his smile.

"Run." I muttered, taking a step backwards.

"But, Kiku is-" He tried to protest.

"Just fucking run, Alfred!" I turned and grabbed him, sprinting as fast as I could away from the Russian who had been bearing down on us. Away from Alfred's friend. And away from the job that I should have been doing.

I could hear Braginski coming after us. The thumps of his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridors that we had been in only seconds before merged with the beating of my own heart in my ears and the hurried breathing of Alfred behind me.

My legs ached and I couldn't remember which way was the way out. My head was throbbing with everything that had just happened and I couldn't understand any of it. And it was in that moment that Alfred took the lead, dashing ahead of me and leading the way down the next corridor, all the while still holding onto my hand.

I hadn't registered it. The fact that I had grasped hold of his hand in my moment of panic and I could feel my face heating up just thinking about it and the tingling sensation in my chest that just made it feel, well, _right_.

But it wasn't the time for thinking about things like _that_!

Bloody hell, we were on the run!

And then, we were outside, dashing towards the car we had come in. And just as quickly as it had all started, we were driving away, leaving the tower block a small speck in the rear-view mirror.

"Not cool." Alfred gasped, leaning a little harder on the steering wheel as he drove.

"Most definitely not." I agreed, sliding down in the passenger seat and fixing my seatbelt.

"What do we do about Kiku?" He glanced at me, the worry for his friend evident on his face.

"He's worked with them before." I sighed, "I'm sure he will be able to look after himself."

Alfred gave me a small smile, focusing on driving once more.

"Hey, Arthur?" He addressed me after a few more minutes of silence.

"Hmm?"

"You called me 'Alfred'." His grin returned to his face as he looked away from the road, instead staring at my increasingly red face.

•••

_Entry 27_

Vargas is _not_ happy.

Apparently Wang reported back to him about the incident a couple of days ago and according to him, I'm not doing my job properly.

And, well, I suppose he's right.

If that had happened in any normal situation, I would have taken a step back and let Braginski deal with the bugger. One less job for me, you know?

So _why_ didn't I let him fucking kill Alfred?

But that's another thing.

I never met anyone like Alfred before. He's like a pure spirit. Nothing brings him down.

Even as I'm writing this, he's sitting on the opposite side of our office, devising his 'master plan' for rescuing Honda, seeing himself as the hero, of course.

Dammit! Why am I looking at him like this?

It's like he captures my gaze every time I turn around.

What happened to being a cold-hearted killer?

•••

"Hey, Arthur?" Alfred approached me as I closed my laptop after finishing my journal.

"Yeah?" I pulled off my reading glasses, only too glad that he hadn't disturbed me a second earlier.

"Jeez, man, you look exhausted. What were you working on?" He rubbed his thumb under my eye, a small smile supported on his lips.

"Something personal." I muttered, brushing his hand away and wishing that my cheeks wouldn't burn so much from the contact. "Keeps my mind at ease."

"Hmm?" He tilted his head to one side in that very child-like manner of his, that dammit, _almost_ made him look cute. "Well, I think we should call it a night. Everyone else has left." He held out his hand to help me up. "C'mon. I'll take you back to your hotel."

I hesitated, really willing the heat in my face to _fucking go away_, before taking the idiotic boy's hand and let him pull me out of my seat.

"Actually," he said, his voice taking on a softer, lower tone, "On second thought, I'll take you back to mine. It's closer and I won't have to worry about you attempting to do work after I've dropped you off."

I huffed, raising an eyebrow, "Since when did you turn into my babysitter?"

He poked my brown back down again. "Nah, I'm just worried about you, is all. Don't want you collapsing somewhere from worrying your cute little head off."

"I'm _not_ cute." I snapped, glaring and knowing that my face must have been positively glowing by this point. "And may I ask _why_ exactly you think I would accept any offer of yours?"

"Oh, come _on_, Artie!" He whined, "I'm only trying to be nice. And besides, you really are working too hard. You need to take a break!"

He started trying to drag me out of the office, a smattering of pink on his cheeks. "Come _on!_"

I couldn't help but laugh. He just looked so goddamned daft! "Fine. _Fine_." I pulled my hand away. "Let me just gather my things together."

•••

Alfred had given me an old pair of his pyjamas to wear for the night, and for some reason had decided it was a good idea to confiscate my laptop bag and notepad in some strange method of preventing me from doing any more work for the night.

And while I suppose that it was well after midnight, it still wasn't anywhere near the time when I would have normally been asleep.

"Don't you think that this is a tad unnecessary, Alfred?" I scoffed as he re-entered his bedroom after I had finished changing.

"It is not! There's no way I'm risking you trying to start working on something again and keeling over. Nuh uh. No way-! Why aren't you wearing the shirt?" He had turned a furious shade of red, hastily shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose in embarrassment.

"Hm?" But naturally, I was oblivious. Because I like to make things _that_ much harder for myself. "Because it's more comfortable this way. And your clothes are too big for me." I huffed, readjusting the trousers he had leant me as if to prove my point.

No, it's not something I'm particularly pleased about. That fact that while Alfred is not too much taller than me, he has a much stronger build, which is just so goddamn _annoying!_

I looked up and started backwards, almost tripping on the edge of the bed. Just _when_ had Alfred gotten so close?

"W-What are you doing?" I tripped over my words, staring at him in front of me.

"I was just wondering," he almost whispered, cupping my face in one hand, "why you're so closed off to the world." He bit his lip, "I mean, you were practically famous before. I don't get it."

"People change, Alfred." I said, turning my face away. "The world isn't always what you think it is. It's about time you learnt that."

"And you need to learn that sometimes it is." He said, pulling me back to face him, his eyes dark behind his lenses.

And then he closed the distance between us, pushing me backwards onto the bed.

Alfred's arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer to him, while all I could do was stare at him, aghast with wide eyes. What on _earth_ was he doing? What kind of message did I give him that resulted in _this?_

"You don't have to look so surprised." He chuckled, breaking the contact and brushing my hair out of my eyes.

I must have looked like a fish – opening and closing my mouth but with no sound whatsoever coming out. I'm such a fool.

"Was I really that bad?" He looked down, his usually dazzling smile turning sad, the light reflecting on his glasses completely hiding his eyes from view.

And that's when it clicked.

I couldn't kill him.

There was no way I could kill him.

How on earth could I end the life of someone so damned perfect? Someone so… so _right_.

Jesus Christ, when did I become so bloody soft?

"Alfred." I smiled, actually properly for the first time in years, and _God_ did I feel young again. It had been far too long since I had felt my age, and not like some heartless creature in a twenty-five year old's body. "You weren't _terrible_."

He looked back up at me, the surprise at my words evident on his features before his grin reappeared on his face and his grip tightened around me once more as he let out a relieved laugh, nuzzling into my shoulder.

Alfred's breath tickled my neck as we lay there unmoving, just enjoying the sensation of each other's warmth. And I mean actually _enjoying_ it. I haven't enjoyed anything since I was an intern for my first newspaper all those years ago.

I felt him press his lips against my neck, his kisses travelling up and along my jaw until he was looking me in the eye once more, his beautiful blue orbs stared straight at me and sparkled before the distance between us closed again. Although, this time I met him half way.

It was like I was being born again. This was something so new and fresh. Something that I could just feel and know was what I needed. I was memorising all of it. The feel of Alfred's hands as they stroked down my back and mine gripping into the fabric of his shirt. The taste of his toothpaste as his tongue passed through into my mouth. The chapped feeling of his lips against mine and the way our legs had somehow tangled together.

I don't know where it had all come from, but it was _incredible_.

Unfortunately, it was also short-lived.

I started up, a small flash at the window catching my attention as it sounded. A loud bang and breaking glass.

And then all I remember is jumping up and wrapping myself around Alfred and something hitting me in the shoulder.

Something warm and wet was running down my back and Alfred was staring in horror at me, his eyes darting between my form in front of him, and the figure standing outside the window of his first-floor apartment.

I turned in his grip, slumping against his shoulder to see Antonio standing there, smug smile plastered on his face.

"Well, that wasn't _quite_ what I had in mind." The smile didn't falter in the slightest.

"Antonio, you bastard." I growled, glaring at him. I groped around behind me, trying to find what I had hidden in my coat.

"Well, you weren't getting the job done, Arthur, so the boss asked me to do it instead." He sniggered, "I must say that I am a tad surprised. Your record has always been so perfect up 'til now." He climbed through the broken glass, getting dangerously close.

Alfred grip around me got tighter and he turned me away from the approaching man. "Get out." He seethed in a way I never expected of him. "Go on. Get a head start on the cops."

Antonio let out a bark of laughter. "Just try and phone them, kid." His grin grew all the more. "But you'll just end up getting you little Arthur into trouble as well."

"Hop it, Carriedo." I snarled, holding up my own gun. "You're not the only one who knows how to use one of these things."

"Arthur?" Alfred's attention turned back to me. I could feel his eyes boring into me, the shock written all over his body language.

"Tell Vargas he can fucking well get a new blood hound, I don't want anything else to do with him." I threw the firearm as best I could at the Spaniard, though he easily dodged it.

"He won't like that very much." Antonio's expression darkened, finally taking my words seriously.

"I don't give a damn."

"Well then." He turned, glancing back at me with cold green eyes, "If I have the misfortune of meeting you again, I'll make sure my next shot kills you in one." He stepped back towards the window, avoiding the broken glass. "Oh and as for Jones." His snigger returned. "Next time I won't miss."

And he was gone, disappearing into the night as sirens started ringing out.

Of course the neighbours would have heard.

My vision was turning dark.

"Arthur!" Alfred shook me, trying to keep me conscious.

"Don't worry, love." I smiled, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "I won't let him hurt you."

"Forget that!" He shouted, "I already knew about it all and I don't care! Just fucking stay awake!"

I barely heard the shaky laugh I let out as I let my eyes fall shut. "So obnoxious, git. Think you're so clever."

"Arthur!"

"I'm glad I didn't kill you."

"Fucking hell! Arthur!"

And then everything went blank.

* * *

**[A/N: **Hullo my lovelies~

I've had the idea for this fic for a little while now and just thought I would get it into motion.

As you can tell, it's not going to be very long, just two or three chapters in total, depending on what I feel like when I start writing the next one.

I actually had the idea for this before I started writing "What Your Eyes Can't See", but found it more difficult to write, so that one got more attention ^^;;

Although I'm so thankful for all the attention my fics have been getting for my readers.

I love you all!

And for those of you who are interested, I've posted the ending image for "What's in a Name?" on my profile (it's the one linked as just England and America).

Thanks for reading, everyone~! 3**]**


	2. Chapter 2

**How Did It Come To This?**

_Chapter 2_

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I'd known of Arthur Kirkland since I was studying journalism in college. He was an absolute legend as far as I was concerned! Completely and utterly awesome! He may not have been very big in the world of journalism, but man could he write! Bringing down bad guys with his politely rude criticisms that _no one_ could deny were _amazing_!

He'd been writing since he was eighteen, after doing an internship with his local paper and kept going right up until he disappeared soon after he turned twenty-three.

No one could explain why he suddenly vanished, or knew what he had been researching at the time. All anyone was certain of was that something broke in Arthur Kirkland's world at that time, and his name has never appeared in a newspaper since.

And now, here I am, sitting next to a hospital bed, watching that very man lie there unconscious after being shot in order to protect me.

I knew, and had done for some time, what Arthur was and why he had suddenly returned to the journalism world. Ever since that day when we made that crappy choice of trying to infiltrate Wang Yao's company and it had been let slip.

I don't think Arthur had heard. Either that or he had ignored it.

Wang had been talking away to Kiku in whatever language it was and then switched to English for some reason and carried on as if it was normal. But thinking about it, he must've done it on purpose. Only then would me and Arthur have been able to understand what he was saying, and only then would we have realised just how big our fuck up had been.

"We called in Vargas for this target." Wang had smiled, looking unnaturally young, "And he has sent Kirkland after Alfred Jones for us."

I think I must've looked just as shocked as Kiku had, but then we had been interrupted but that giant dog of a bodyguard and the next thing I knew, Arthur had grabbed my hand and we were running.

If _that_ isn't a strange thing for the man who's supposed to be killing me to do, then I don't know what is.

I'd been wracking my brains for those few days afterwards, trying to figure out just _what_ Arthur was thinking.

Yeah, we'd made a connection over the last couple of months. He's just too damn cute when he gets all flustered and grumpy. And well, thinking about it all kinda made me realise, but I had no idea what _Arthur_ was thinking and feeling. But there had to be something, right? I mean, he saved me, putting his own neck at risk.

He'd been at his laptop whenever I saw him, typing at a million miles an hour, switching screens when he saw me watching. If I came over he'd close the screen altogether. Sometimes, when his cell phone rang, he would disappear from the office in a flash and not reappear for ages. But the answer to that question was easy now that I knew the truth.

It was Vargas, calling him and demanding him to get a move on and stick me in the back. But Arthur never did.

I couldn't stand the sight of him sitting in the office until the dead of night. He looked even paler than usual and his eyebrows were creased almost permanently. It wasn't as if I was going to let him battle it out by himself. There was no way I could do that.

So, when I saw him stop typing, I thought it as good a time as any to get him out of there. Though taking him back to my apartment hadn't been part of the original plan. But then, he had agreed, so he can't have minded that much, right?

Though maybe I'm just too thick-headed (as Arthur always said) and stubborn to take no for an answer.

And then things kinda moved by themselves.

We'd just been talking, but I suppose I got too caught up. Arthur had closed himself off to the world, retreated back to the deepest depths of himself and locked himself there, and I couldn't stand seeing him that way.

So I just moved. And don't get me wrong. I don't regret kissing Arthur (even if the look he gave me did kinda make me feel like I'd moved way too soon). But he didn't move from my grip. He just stayed lying there, held flush against me, face red as a tomato, but he didn't move.

"Alfred." And I had looked back up at him and he was smiling.

And_ God_! That smile! It was awesome. Something that I had never expected to see. Something dazzling. Something just truly and utterly, completely perfect. And it was all Arthur.

"You weren't _terrible_."

Okay, so that hadn't quite been the reaction I had been after. But it was more than I could have ever wished for and I couldn't help but just grin back at him and hold him even closer.

And then I was kissing him again, just because I could. I wanted to feel his skin against mine, and just experience everything that was just Arthur. Everything that was the man that had shut himself away, but had allowed me that bit closer to his heart.

His eyes shone so brightly when he looked at me and I felt like I had never really gotten the chance to take in just how dazzlingly beautiful their colour was – like emeralds.

And he met me halfway as that small distance closed again and his arms were around my back, returning my hold in a way that I had never thought he would.

It clicked right then, that he felt the same, even if it went against everything that he had forced himself to believe and put him in just as much danger as me.

And then it ended.

Arthur had moved like lightening as soon as it happened. A bang, crash, and the impact of when he was shot.

It had all happened too fast.

That bastard, Antonio, was also working for Vargas and had come to finish the job seeing as Arthur was 'incapable'.

Anger had hit me and I couldn't think. I remember shouting something about the cops and turning Arthur away from the gunman.

Arthur had pulled his own gun out and was throwing it at that fucking Spaniard, while all I could do was gape at him. And it was over with Carriedo's last few words, his threats of killing both of us, before he disappeared away from the sirens that were getting louder and louder.

I was shaking Arthur, trying to keep him awake, but I could feel his blood dripping from between my fingers.

"I'm glad I didn't kill you." He whispered and then was unconscious, leaving me shouting his name as the cops burst through the door.

•••

I'm still working on the case. I've got to! Otherwise this would've all been for nothing. There's no way that I'm letting that bastard get away with what he's doing after everything that's happened! Heracles's death, Kiku never returning after that… incident, and now with Arthur in hospital, still unconscious.

I go to see him every day and every time they ask me the same questions: "What relation was he to you?" My partner at the newspaper. "Why was he shot?" I don't know. "Do you know the man who shot him?" He's a bastard. "And what do you mean by that, sir?" Nothing.

Until they give up and leave me in the silence of the ward, waiting and hoping that today will be the day that Arthur opens his eyes.

But that day hasn't come yet.

Everyone at the paper has been getting more frantic the more time that passes.

Carriedo, of course, hasn't shown his face since, and they all know why. Francis and Gilbert looked like they'd been punched in the face when they found out what had happened, Gil disappearing almost instantly to call Ludwig, making sure that his younger brother and Feliciano stay hidden for the time being.

We all know what the name "Vargas" means around here, and it ain't anything good.

The editor has been at odds with that man for as long as anyone can remember, what with all his personal investigations of the Italian's business partners and assets. And then all that crap with Ludwig and Feliciano happened after they met by chance.

Needless to say, tensions are running even higher than usual.

•••

I've been reading through Arthur's journal. I found it by accident when I went to find his notes for the case, but well, this should give me some kind of lead on what I need to do. He'll probably go crazy if he finds out.

Just as long as the cops don't come snooping.

It's not the most_ comfortable_ thing I've ever read. I mean, at the start he did like to kinda… complain… about me mostly (and Francis, but everyone complains about him).

There's a lot of stuff about working on the case, and the stuff he's found out that his 'boss' didn't bother telling him. It's like they just threw him out into the dark and expected him to get the job done as soon as he saw my face at the airport. As if! Arthur's _way_ smarter than that!

But then, Carriedo _did_ say that Arthur's record was perfect before now.

He'd always gotten the job done.

Then there was the bit when he stopped calling me 'Jones' and started using my name. _God_ that had been the light in the shittiest of days, just after we'd gotten away from Wang's building.

And that was when Arthur had gotten warmer. He was still as tense as ever, sure, but it was like he actually wanted me around him, not just because he needed to get close to me to do his job.

He called me 'idealistic' a lot. And then said that he used to be the same. Dammit! I still don't get it! Why did the sudden change between Arthur Kirkland the awesome journalist and Arthur the assassin happen?

And what's wrong with having some idealism?

And in amongst all of this I have found something.

In with all the other crap Arthur was battling with, he'd realised the same thing I had about him, about me. And even though it confused the hell out of him, he didn't fight it. And I'm glad.

•••

I had been sitting next to Arthur's bed at the time.

There was a slight jump in the heart rate monitor and then suddenly, as if out of nowhere, the most welcome sound I'd heard in the last few, antagonising days came from the bed.

Arthur took a deep breath in and out again, and his eyes cracked open.

The usually bright green was dulled at first, the haze of his unconscious mind still in effect, before he blinked and was wide awake.

I felt my heart skip a beat and the grin spread across my face. He was awake. Arthur was awake. He was okay.

And in amongst all this I didn't register the panic on Arthur's face as he realised he was in an unknown environment and bolted upright.

"Alfred?" He shouted, not registering me next to him. Arthur threw back the covers, ready to jump off the bed, if he had not been connected to the IV. "Shit!"

"Arthur, relax!" I pulled him back onto the bed, forcing him under the covers. "I'm right here! You're in the hospital; you need to take it easy!"

He carried on struggling against me for a few moments before he recognised my voice, and stopped.

Suddenly bright green eyes were looking up at me, their usual awesome dazzle back at a hundred per cent, even if the rest of his expression looked like a fish.

"I'll go get the nurse." I stood back up, after making absolutely sure that he wasn't gonna try and fly off the bed again, circling the small room towards the door before I felt the tug on my jacket.

"Don't."

I turned back around, seeing Arthur's worried face. "You've been out for days, man! They need to know that you finally came 'round."

He huffed, leaning back on his pillows, eyebrows furrowing. "I can handle it. The last thing I need is prissy nurses fussing over me." He looked at me, and for once I didn't see the front of the unemotional Brit. I saw that slight worry in his eyes. The look that told me that he really didn't want to see anyone else right then.

I sighed, letting the smile slip back onto my face. "Alright." I sat on the edge of the bed (a little too hard because Arthur winced), placing my hand over his. "I won't go anywhere, don't worry."

Arthur blushed, pulling his hand away. "A-as if I'd worry about that!" He stuttered, though the relief still showed on his face.

His face was slightly too pale, still not having recovered properly from all the blood-loss. It was kinda worrying, but I guess that's what happens when you're out for days on end and not being able to eat. (The nurses wouldn't let me bring anything like burgers into the ward. I think they want me to starve too. Arthur always did poke at me for eating them all the time, but what can I say? They're awesome!)

We just sat there for a little while. Arthur leaning against the pillows and looking like a ghost, and me sort of unconsciously with my arm around his waist so that he was pulled lightly against me.

It was nice, I guess. Quiet, and maybe a bit awkward, but yeah, it was nice.

At some point a nurse did pop her head around the door, the relief of finally seeing Arthur awake flooding over her face as she dashed off to find the doctor in charge.

Arthur grumbled as they carried out all the tests. I couldn't help but smile while they listened to his pulse and checked over his wound, wrapping it in new bandages and saying about a million things to him about how he should look after it and not overexert himself or it'd start bleeding again. And, of course, Arthur just glared at them and told them he knew it all already (which I think kinda surprised them, but they didn't ask questions). He ended up just rolling his eyes over at me, looking exasperated. I just shrugged, glad to see him acting himself again.

•••

The cops were around the next day asking questions. Trying their hardest to get whatever they could out of Arthur and me. The same questions they had been asking me for days were now being directed at the man who had just woken up from a fucking _coma_. Jesus, they had no freaking decency!

"Will you bloody well get _out_!" Arthur snapped, his reserve totally leaving him. "I'm _tired_ and have had just about enough of your pathetic excuse of an interrogation."

"Sir, if you would just listen and understand-" The officer tried to speak, only to be cut off by Arthur's death glare.

"I don't _need_ to listen. I already understand the situation." He stared at the policeman, as if daring him to try and talk again. "I _understand_ that you want to carry out your investigation. However, there is little point. It would be an impossible mission for your abysmal force to attempt to carry out."

"You've said that, sir, but I don't fully understand what you mean." The officer sighed, his patience with Arthur growing ever thinner. "Did you _know_ the man who shot you? Who _was_ he to you?"

Arthur didn't answer, just continuing to glare at the man in front of him. He did however, without the cop noticing, move his hand to the side to touch my fingers on the arm of the chair he was sitting on.

"Sir, if you don't answer then I am going to have to assume the worst." The officer sighed, tucking away his notepad and retrieving his hat from the side table where he'd left it. "And if that means taking you down to the station when you're well enough to leave the hospital, then that's what I'll do."

Arthur twitched, not visibly, but I felt it. His eyes widened slightly but he didn't break eye contact with the man now standing in front of the door.

"Do you understand, sir? If we find that you had anything to do with this event, then you will also be suffering from the consequences of any actions that you may have made."

Arthur made to speak, but decided against it, frowning to himself instead.

"I can vouch for Mr Kirkland." I recognised the voice even before the man entered the room. The policeman jumped, not expecting the sudden appearance of my editor, but even as Mr Beilschmidt entered the ward his face was stock straight, showing the utmost professionalism and seriousness.

"You can, sir?" The policeman now turned to my boss, the shock still a little bit visible on his face.

"I wouldn't say that I could unless it was true." The German said, narrowing his gaze on the cop slightly. "This man works for me, he has done nothing wrong. He was shot by a man whom I had also believed to be working under my photography department, but was, in actuality, a spy, working to kill members of my company. I will give you more information if needs be. I understand that you wish to speak more with my employees, but can it wait until Mr Kirkland is in a better condition. It is my understanding that he only woke up yesterday. Is that right, Alfred?"

I started, not expecting to be addressed so bluntly. "Uh, yeah. He did." I stuttered, nodding at Beilschmidt.

"You see?" He returned the gesture to me, turning back to the officer. "I will join you in a few minutes. For now I wish to see if my reporter is recovering enough for him to return to work soon."

"Uh, yes, of course." The officer nodded shortly, turning to face the door. "I will wait for you outside then, Mr…?"

"Albert Beilschmidt." He answered, "And yes, I will be with you shortly."

When the door clicked the editor turned back to us, his expression still unchanging, but seemed to be boring down on Arthur, who was trying his best to glare straight back at him.

"So," Beilschmidt started, circling the bed to perch in the rooms other chair, "you were working for Vargas all this time."

This time Arthur more or less shuddered. Flinching visibly at the mention of the Italian, no longer holding the gaze of Beilschmidt.

"There's no need to shy away from the facts. I had in fact known for some time who you were. Julius Vargas works in many different ways, and I am certain that I know most of them. He is a careless man. I learnt that many years ago." The editor's expression was stony, a hell of a lot stiffer than it had been when he'd been speaking to the policeman. "He is a very tempting and manipulative man. It is how he became as powerful as he is today. But he does have his weaknesses. One is his grandchildren, which, as the both of you know, is a weakness my family has exploited when Feliciano came to meet Ludwig. Julius is strong, but in no means stable. While other people rely on him to get a dirty job done, he can no longer carry out those jobs himself. He cannot face them. He is scared."

In the silence that followed I could only stare at the editor. I'd always known that he knew Vargas, but this was getting _way_ too close to an area that I didn't really want to know about. It was only Arthur breathing out a low laugh that brought us out of our thoughts.

"Vargas? Scared?" Arthur's grip on the arms of the chair tightened as he repositioned himself, "That's something I highly doubt."

The two of them were glaring at each other, Arthur's look one of spite, but Beilschmidt just looked tired.

"You do not know Julius as I do."

Arthur stopped whatever he was going to say next and simply stared at the man he'd been pretending to work for in the past few weeks.

"And I do not regret knowing him." Beilschmidt stood, crossing to the room's small window. "He is a brilliant man, and if not for him, then I would not be where I am today." He shifted so that his long hair fell back over his shoulders, covering the back of his blazer jacket. "Our relationship is not one of hate, as everyone thinks. We simply became tired of one another. We were unable to deal with our difference in opinions any longer. My only wish would be that he realises just how stupid his ideals are."

"That man has no ideals." Arthur spat out, the venom in his voice sounding way too dangerous for a man who was in hospital recovering from his injury. "He just wants to be able to conquer any force that threatens him. You of all people should know that."

"He was not always the way he is today. Indeed, I believe the way he acts now to just be an act. The fact that he sees me as a threat is because I knew him _before_ he became the way you know him to be." Beilschmidt turned back to face Arthur. He looked tired, and for once somewhat close to his age (seriously, how can a grandfather look so young?).

"Please understand," he strode back over to the door, "I only investigate Julius because I worry for what dealings he may be getting involved with. This time we have inadvertently crossed paths due to the newspaper's investigations elsewhere. However, I refuse to see my employees shot down like rats by his men. But be rest assured, I will not be reporting you. You're a valuable journalist, Kirkland. You just need to rediscover yourself. Now, if you would excuse me."

And with that, the editor left again, sweeping out the door without another word.

I felt Arthur relax beside me, letting out a breath that I didn't realise he'd been holding. He ran his hand through his already messy hair, pulling on the hospital gown he was wearing with the other.

"Do you want me to get the nurse?" I put a hand on his shoulder, being careful not to hurt him.

"No." He sighed, looking up at me. "No, it's okay. I'm fine."

We stayed like that for a while, Arthur seemingly lost in his own thoughts while I couldn't do anything to try and help him.

I'm not sure how long we were like that for, Arthur thinking and me just standing there. A nurse did come in at some point to drop in Arthur's food, but he just dismissed it, much to the nurse's annoyance and she still insisted on leaving it on the table.

"Maybe I should go." I finally decided, standing up properly, and for the second time I felt that pull on my sleeve as I made to leave the room. "Arthur?"

"Stay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel awkward." A dust of pink had scattered over his cheeks, and I couldn't help but think he looked cute. "I just… I just needed to think things over for myself. I need to try and figure some things out before I'm discharged. I never thought that I would have to question myself again like this."

"Is there anything you need me to do?" He looked older than I had even seen him. Way older than he should've looked.

Arthur's blush deepened, reaching his ears as he looked away from me again. "Just… stay here. Only for a bit longer. I need someone here right now."

I couldn't stop myself from smiling. It was in these little moments that I realised just how bad I had it for him, even despite his bad attitude. I crouched down, gently pulling him closer and kissed the top of his head (even though he did grumble something about me being a "complete and utter git"). "Okay."

•••

It was another week before they finally discharged Arthur, telling him to come in for check-ups every two weeks despite his complaints.

Because of the police searching everything he couldn't go back to his hotel, so he was staying with me. As if I'd let him go back there even if he could. All of Vargas's henchmen know where he was staying. There's no way in hell that I'd give them another chance of getting to Arthur. Under the circumstances, I don't think I'll be letting him out of my sight for the foreseeable future.

The editor called us in for a meeting as soon as Arthur was well enough to come back into the office. And if I was feeling awkward then I can't imagine how Arthur was feeling when we walked through the editing floor.

Everyone was staring at him. And even though I _do_ understand why, after all, they all know he was working for Vargas now, I just wish that they'd leave him alone. He's got nothing to do with Vargas anymore. End of. But that didn't stop Arthur from trying to hide his face as we walked past the desks towards the editor's office.

What I didn't expect when we did enter Beilschmidt's office, was the group of people huddled inside.

Of course Gilbert would be there, being the boss's grandson and all, but the rest of them, Roderich, Elizabeta, Vash and Francis, I don't know why they were all there. Francis looked oddly serious for once; any signs of his usual perverted self completely lost.

"Ah, good." The editor said, looking up from his papers as we entered the room. "Now we can begin."

"You can explain why you've gathered us all here then." Vash grumbled shortly from where he was leaning on the wall. "We have enough work to do as it is."

Roderich gave a curt nod in agreement, not moving his eyes from the editor. Elizabeta, on the other hand, walked straight up to Arthur, a small smile on her face as she stood in front of the two of us. "It's good to see you have recovered." And then the smile was gone and she slapped Arthur hard. "And that was for deceiving us all this time."

The whole room had fallen silent of any complaints as Arthur stood there looking more shocked than the rest of us put together (Beilschmidt still looked utterly bleak).

Arthur raised his hand to his face, touching where he'd been hit before his lips quirked up slightly and a look of relief flooded his features. He met Elizabeta's glare, doing his very best to look like his usual professional self, "I apologise. To all of you." He took a breath, glancing round everyone there, "I truly am sorry for the trouble I have caused here."

I quickly squeezed his hand, hoping that the others didn't notice it, and was surprised to feel Arthur return the gesture, though he didn't break eye-contact with the rest of the group.

"Well I damn well hope so." Gilbert broke the silence, still glaring at Arthur, "'Cause I swear, if you'd gone after West, then I'd have-"

"Shut up, Gil! He wasn't after Ludwig, and you know that." Elizabeta snapped, her hand twitching in a way that said that she wanted to hit Gilbert next. "Anyway, as long as that's settled," she turned back to Arthur, smiling again, "welcome to the team."

I felt the grin spread across my face, nudging Arthur before Elizabeta dragged the two of us further into the office to sit opposite the editor with the rest of them.

"So, what _is_ this all about, sir?" I asked, perching down on the arm of the chair Arthur was sitting in. "Carriedo's long gone, probably back to wherever Vargas is. And we've still got the other case to take care of."

"Indeed he has returned to Julius's side." Beilschmidt looked up from his work again, observing the other members in the room.

"How do you-" Gilbert started, turning to face his grandfather directly.

"I have my sources, Gilbert. You know this." Beilschmidt dismissed him, "I also know that they are not planning on sending anyone else to this office to carry out their task. I believe Wang Yao knows this and is currently making negotiations with Julius about the situation they have made for themselves. As you two know," he addressed me and Arthur, "Wang knows that Mr Kirkland has abandoned his job as he saw you two that day at his office. He is particularly vexed by this betrayal, no matter how beneficial it is for us."

"I don't understand what this has to do with us." Francis finally included himself, still looking tired and annoyed.

"It has everything to do with everyone in this room." The editor almost snapped, but held his patience. "Francis, you and Gilbert were the one's closest to Antonio Carriedo while he was here. Whether that is because he was trying to gain information from you or not, he still was not on his full guard while around the two of you, and therefore, you will know the most about him, save for maybe Mr Kirkland. The group of you are the ones that I can best rely on here, and so I must entrust this to all of you in order for it to succeed to my expectations."

"Sir?" I was used to him being as serious as fuck, but the editor wasn't usually one for cryptic messages and it wasn't as if I was the only one in the room looking confused.

"Roderich, I will be leaving my position to you while I am out of the office, as usual. Make sure that the newspaper does not become out of hand."

"Of course." Roderich nodded.

"Elizabeta, you are to assist him. You are the best at gathering outside information. We need to know everything that is going on."

"Alright." She adjusted her jacket, shuffling slightly closer to Roderich on the small couch.

"Vash, I am sure you know why I have asked for your presence here."

"Sir, I'm not convinced that this would be wise. Particularly if you wish to use firearms." Vash's frown deepened. "It's hard enough getting hold of them as it is."

"I appreciate that, but it is essential that we have some method of protection and I am positive that Mr Kirkland's own firearm was confiscated by the police when they carried out their investigation." He looked to Arthur, who nodded, his blatant frustration showing on his face. "Can you please at least look into the matter?"

"As you wish." Vash sighed, looking still more annoyed.

"Gilbert, I need you to find your brother and Feliciano." Beilscmidt turned to his grandson, his expression grave.

"Vati?" Gilbert stood, taken aback by the sudden request.

"They have been hidden for far too long. I think it's time that we let Julius meet with his lost grandson again."

He stood, circling the desk so that he stood directly in front of the group of us. "Alfred, you, Mr Kirkland, Francis, and I will be meeting with Julius, once Gilbert has found the other two. I have had enough of not knowing what that man is thinking. I happen to know that he is currently in the country to meet with Wang. Our best chance to meet with him would be now."

"But sir-!"

"Are you stupid?" Arthur suddenly spoke up, cutting across me. "The last person Vargas will want to see right now, is you. He has already lost his grandson to your family, and with me disappearing to also join your _'ranks'_, I highly doubt that any of our presences will be welcomed. _Particularly_ if he is meeting with Wang Yao. That man has complete protection. We are unlikely to even be able to get close to his company."

I stared at him, knowing only too well that Arthur was thinking about that Russian, the one who had chased us from Wang's building before. He was right. Getting close to Vargas was going to be more than just difficult.

"I have already thought this through, Kirkland." Beilschmidt's expression stiffened as he addressed Arthur, "And believe it or not, I do have experience in these fields. One cannot know Julius Vargas and not pick up some tricks when having to deal with him. Surely you know this."

Arthur's lip curled and he glared at the editor, not wanting to admit that the man was right.

"As it happens, I am receiving information from inside Wang's company." He brushed Arthur's comments aside, striding around the room until he was facing the window. "It seems that Wang did not wish to rid himself of Kiku's company just yet, fortunately for us."

"Kiku?" I surprised even myself when I jumped up, hearing my friend's name. Arthur certainly hadn't expected the sudden movement of the chair when it shifted a foot to the side, but I ignored his surprised shout. "He's okay? He's still there?"

"Yes, yes." Beilschmidt seemed slightly amused, but it didn't show easily on his face. "He has been contacting me for some time now. It just has not been safe to relay the information to you until now. He will be able to get us inside." He paused, thinking for a few moments. "It seems… even despite what happened before; Wang still values his cousin's qualities. He has been kept safe."

"Thank God." I sighed, sitting back down. "So he's helping us get in."

"And then what?" Arthur cut in again, still frowning, "We just prance in and demand to see Vargas? I highly doubt that."

"Well, I was hoping for your assistance in that area." Beilschmidt turned back to Arthur, looking thoughtful. "You are, after all, an expert of stealth. We all should know that. Despite what you may believe, your reputation as a reporter is highly thought of. Many people missed you when your name disappeared from the papers, even over here in the States. And even back then, before you crossed paths with Julius, you knew how to find your target no matter what. I seem to recall reading countless stories by you, when you have been able to track down illegal activities even in the most remote and hidden of places. I am positive that tracking down Julius will not be a problem for you. After all, you have done it once before."

Arthur had taken to staring down at his hands, not knowing how to react to the editor's words. I could feel him shaking slightly beside me even after I placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We don't have long to formulise a plan and I suggest that the sooner this all comes to pass, the better." Beilschmidt stepped back into the centre of the room, speaking to everyone. "You're all the best workers I have. I know that I can trust you all with this."

There were murmurs of agreement before Arthur abruptly stood, frowning at the editor, staying silent for what seemed like _forever_, and then he nodded, his thoughts seeming to fall in place, and he left the room, leaving me to say hurried goodbyes to the others before dashing after him.

* * *

**[A/N:** It's been too long! 0

My bad guys! I've just been super busy!

For those of you who follow my blog on LJ or on deviantART (however few of you there may be ^^;;) you'll already know this, but for everyone else, here's my completely valid excuse! .

I've been in the run up for this year's assessments at University. I'm an Art Student, and to contradict popular opinions about Art Students, I'm extremely serious about my work.

So yeah, that kinda meant bye bye to my own personal artwork and fanfics while I got my work done TT^TT

I wanted to write for sooo long! I kept thinking about storylines and other crap while I've been unable to work and it's been killing me!

I've been annoying my twitter followers waaay too much by moaning about Uni work for the last couple of months, so thanks for sticking with me guys! I love you all!

I did, however, get back from my last lecture yesterday and sat down and started finishing this straight away! (It's been half done for ages!)

(This is particularly for _Yuu-chi_, who went stalking me a little while ago and asked for updates. Here it is honey! 0

Thank you for your patience! 3)

On another note: I'm kinda interested in looking for a beta at the moment if anyone's interested.

I've never had one before, so I'm not _entirely_ sure how it all works, but I would like to have someone other than me check through my work to make sure it's all looking good ^^;;

Just note me somewhere if you're interested. Either here, LiveJournal, deviantART or even through twitter if needs be for contact with me. (LilFlowFlow on twitter)

Thanks again guys~!

Big love to you all! 333

(_What Your Eyes Can't See_ will be updated asap!)**]**


	3. Chapter 3

How Did It Come To This?

_Chapter 3_

* * *

_Entry_ -

Oh hell, does it even matter?

Keeping this in perfect order seems pointless now. I don't know how to write this anymore. Everything is far to hectic and complicated and entirely _out of order_ that keeping every entry in this idiotic excuse for a journal perfectly uniformed seems like a fool's task.

I don't know why I even bother to carry on writing in this.

But, well, it calms my nerves, if anything.

Alfred finally returned my laptop to me after I had been released from that damned hospital. Another moment in that god forsaken place and I'm sure I would have gone insane, even with Alfred's constant company.

I'm not quite so loathed to admit that the boy is quite endearing anymore. Though his insistence that I stay with him rather than booking in at a different hotel may have been taking things too far. I am not an invalid.

We have been meeting with Beilschmidt for the last week now trying to formulate some form of a plan to infiltrate Wang Yao's company. It's a very delicate situation, as anyone can imagine, and the more time we spend pouring over the details of it all, the more impossible it all seems. Even Alfred, the ever-cheerful (read: oblivious) Alfred, seems to be feeling the strain and pressure that we are all placing so heavily on our shoulders. It truly feels like an impossible feat to accomplish.

But we have to manage it somehow.

•••

I suppose this is _entry 29_.

(I looked back to check)

A parasite has latched onto my shoulder to invade my personal space while I write this. Its name is Alfred. And it is a _pain_.

(And now he is complaining about being called 'it'. Bloody idiot.)

Today's meeting with Beilschmidt seemed to run smoother than out past ones. It didn't feel like my head was going to explode at the end of it, at least. Plus, it's always a good thing when a _certain someone_ doesn't start suggesting senseless schemes for the rest of us to suffer. No, Alfred, they most certainly are _not_ 'brilliantly awesome ideas'. They are foolish and will get us all killed. End of.

If we can continue with this method of planning, then hopefully we will be able to accumulate some sort of strategy within the week.

It is rare for me to do so, but I will keep my fingers crossed.

•••

"Oh no you don't." Alfred steered me away from the sofa, pushing me in the direction of his bedroom. "You're injured. If anyone's sleeping on the couch, it's me. Dude, we've been through this."

"Yes, and I'm sure I mentioned that I've completely healed." I huffed, frowning over my shoulder at him as he continued his idiotic shoving. "I will be perfectly fine sleeping on the sofa."

"Then _why_ are you still putting on a fresh band aid every day?" He stopped pushing me only to pull at the side of my shirt (almost ripping it with those sausage fingers of his) to reveal the edge of the bandage I had attached to my shoulder that morning.

I glared at him, slapping his hand away and pulling my shirt back on properly. "That's just a precaution to keep it clean, you oaf."

"Don't care." Alfred chirped, grabbing my arm and continuing to lead me into the bedroom. "There's no way I'm letting you sleep on the couch. If anything, you're a guest. It wouldn't be very heroic of me to let a guest sleep on the couch."

"For a qualified journalist, you're such a bloody child."

"Hey, I'm just looking out for you." I could tell he was pouting even without looking, he's so damn predictable. But, I suppose, it's also quite endearing of him to try and look after me even after everything. Not that I would ever admit that to him.

"Alfred, tomorrow is important. We can't argue over insignificant things like this." I huffed, doing my very best to hold my ground.

"Yeah, which is why you should stop being stupid and just sleep in the bed." He gave me one last shove into his bedroom, grabbing the blanket and pillow out of my arms, before closing the door behind me, effectively ending the dispute.

The matter of the next day was daunting. It was something that we were all dreading and were all painfully aware of it. The plans had all been made and we were in for an early start the next day. Every last detail of the operation had to be carried out perfectly in order to avoid detection. But it wasn't going to be easy.

Even Alfred had shown his serious side, quietening down and helping to make the plans in such a way that we would all be able to take advantage of the parts we were playing. But still, it wasn't going to be a case of barging in and taking what we wanted. It was a delicate matter. One that we couldn't afford to make a mess of.

It left me staring at the ceiling that night, the thoughts of what we were about to do buzzing through my head and sleep refusing to come. I found myself tossing and turning under the covers in some vein attempt to tire myself out, but nothing seemed to calm my nerves.

Behind the bedroom door in the living room, Alfred was lying on the sofa. I could just imagine his eyes searching his apartment ceiling for the stars that were beyond the roof. The stars that he dreamed of touching, but could never reach. The small thoughts kept popping up into my head. Was Alfred sleeping? Or was he just as troubled as I was? What was he thinking about? And what the hell was I going to be able to do to protect him from the mess I had caused?

Before I knew it, I was pulling back the covers and wrenching open the door, my feet slapping on the lino floor of Alfred's living room as I crossed it. He was there, stretched out on the sofa, feet dangling over the edge, eyes closed as his face snuggled into the pillow.

He looked so damned peaceful and it pained me to think of what might happen the next day.

I pulled the pillow out from under his head, letting it fall back against the arm of the chair and effectively wake him up as I grabbed his arm and forcibly guided him toward the bedroom.

"Dude, I'd just fallen asleep." He yawned, trying to yank his arm back.

"If you're only just falling asleep now, then there's no way that you're going to get a decent night's rest." I grumbled, tightening my grip on his wrist.

"I _told_ you. I'm not letting you sleep on the couch." He continued to try and wrench his arm back, huffing as I held firm.

"Who said that I was going to sleep on the sofa?" I couldn't look back at him, annoyed at my face for heating up.

"You're _not_ sleeping on the floor."

"I never said that I was going to sleep on the floor!" Damned kid, why didn't he get it? "It'll be an inconvenience for everyone if you're tired tomorrow, so we're both going to sleep on the bed. Got it?"

"What? Sleep with you? A-are you sure? I mean, I'm fine with sleeping on the couch."

"It's not about being fine with it." I sighed. God, this kid can be so frustrating! "Let's just go to sleep, alright."

If anything, with Alfred in the bed next to me I was even more awake than I was before; though this time I was staring at the wall, not the ceiling, with my back to the lump on the next pillow. I felt like an age had gone past since I had gotten back under the covers, and I wasn't any closer to succumbing to my tiredness. And from the sounds of it, Alfred was still wide awake beside me.

"Arthur, you still awake?"

"What do you think?" I huffed, pulling the covers up to my chin.

I felt his weight shift as he moved a tad closer to me. He shook my shoulder, moving the covers back down. "I'm cold. You mind if we huddle up a bit?"

"If you're cold just get under the covers more." I shoved them off me, throwing them back over my shoulder and hugged my knees instead.

"Nah. That won't do." He chuckled and I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. That idiot. When did he get that close?

The next thing I knew, Alfred had put his arm around my waist and pulled me against him. I swear no one's ever taught him about personal space, because this was most certainly a breach of mine, and there was nothing I could do to remedy it.

He was pressed against my back and was resting his chin on the top of my head. I suppose… it wasn't entirely unpleasant. But I most certainly wasn't going to let him know that.

"That's better." He whispered, and I could tell he was smiling. "Hey, Arthur, it's been a while since that time, hasn't it?"

"Since what time?"

"You know… _that _time."

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about." I lied, knowing all too well when he was referring to. The time just before I was shot. The time when we… well… kissed.

He sighed, nuzzling into my hair. "For a spy, you're a really bad liar, Artie. Maybe I'll have to remind you?"

"Don't call me that." I muttered, closing my eyes. "Do as you please. It's not as if anything I say will make a difference."

He laughed, pushing himself up on his elbows and rolling me over so that I was looking up at him.

He really looked different without his glasses on and with his face in the shadows. I couldn't decide whether he looked younger or more mature. It was like a different side to him had come out while he was looking down at me.

"What you say makes all the difference, stupid." He leant forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. "You just don't know how to say it."

His smile was ridiculously contagious and no matter what I would have normally done to fight it, I know it must have slipped onto my features because the next thing he was doing was leaving probably the most gentle kiss I had ever received on my lips, and then grinning like the idiot he is. And, because I'm an idiot as well, I could help but return it and let myself lean into it when he bent down once more.

•••

_Entry 35_

Today everything goes ahead as planned. It's, as they say, now or never.

I would be lying if I said that I wasn't worried. My nerves are so on edge that if a pin dropped at the wrong moment, I'm sure that my all too trigger-happy senses may awaken.

Alfred still had his arms around me when I woke up.

That and that alone is the best comfort I could have wished for right now.

•••

"Are you all prepared?" Beilschmidt looked back over the seat in the car to where Alfred and myself were packed into the backseats. Bonnefoy was driving, looking a little more bedraggled than usual and Gilbert was in a car somewhere not far behind us with a couple of others.

"As ready as we're gonna be." Alfred sighed, leaning forward in his seat. "Let's just get it over with."

"I couldn't agree more." I kept staring out the window, watching the cars speed past on their early morning commute. We were driving for a completely different reason.

"If you keep glaring like that then you'll get wrinkles." Alfred poked at my forehead, pushing my brows back up. "No point in making this whole thing feel any worse than it actually is."

"That's the building, right?" Bonnefoy nudged Beilschmidt, nodding ahead at an office block. He nodded and we turned the corner, pulling into the building's car park to wait for the others to arrive.

We'd parked under some trees in some attempts not to get noticed by the security cameras and Bonnefoy had lit up cigarettes for both him and Beilschmidt, not bothering to offer either me or Alfred one. He leant back on the car, smoking it far too quickly for it to be of any use to his nerves, puffing the smoke out like he was a chimney.

"I've spoken to Honda and he should be opening the door for us at eight thirty." Beilschmidt murmured, just loud enough for us all to hear. "The others shouldn't be too much longer in getting here. We just need to wait until then."

I felt myself nodding absentmindedly, fiddling with what I had put in my pocket that morning. It was something I had thought of an brought with me without telling anyone else, but I had a feeling it may end up being essential.

"What you thinking about?" Alfred came bounding up behind me, leaning on my shoulder.

"Just that this is absolutely insane." Because it really was. What we were about to do, it really was idiotically short-sighted.

"Probably." He chirped, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "But it's too late to stop now."

I nodded, feeling inside my pocket again. It was _definitely_ going to be needed. I could see it from a mile away. I pulled it out, stuffing it instead into the breast pocket of Alfred's shirt.

"What're you doing?" He raised an eyebrow at me.

"You'll need it. Trust me." I grumbled, turning my back to snatch a cigarette from the frog. Lord knows I needed it.

It wasn't long before Gilbert was pulling up next to us, getting out of the car and practically ripping the box of fags out of Bonnefoy's hands. The tall blonde that climbed out behind him must've been Beilschmidt's youngest grandson; he looked just like him, and then followed the smaller, obviously terrified boy that I recognised immediately as Feliciano Vargas. He wasn't any different from the photographs I'd seen in Vargas's office, though his idiotic smile was absent, replaced by the face of a complete and utter coward. But he had shown up here, and that had to count for something, I suppose.

Beilschmidt was busy babbling on the phone to someone while Alfred and I stood back. The Vargas kid obviously wasn't the only one fit to burst with nerves. Even Alfred was being needlessly jumpy, whipping his head around whenever someone drove past. It was only when the time hit eight thirty that everyone seemed to calm down, realising that it we had no choice now but to carry everything through.

Gilbert handed his grandfather a case that Zwingli had passed on and a few firearms were passed out to the people who knew how to use them, including myself. (I noticed that they carefully avoided giving Alfred one, probably for the best.) I hid it away inside my jacket, knowing only too well how to keep a weapon like this concealed.

I think that's when it actually hit everyone that we were carrying out something that was genuinely dangerous. It was as if they were all silently praying that they were all going to come out alive.

Honda was, indeed, at the door when we approached, swiftly letting us in after making sure there was no one else around. He shared a quick hello with Alfred (they are friends, after all), before leading the way down the corridor.

"My cousin has a meeting with Vargas at quarter to nine." He spoke quickly, his head darting from side to side to make sure they weren't being watched. "We have to make a move then when they're all together or we'll lose any evidence there may be. They are good at covering their tracks."

"Indeed, it will be difficult." Even Beilschmidt was talking urgently. It wasn't like him to even slightly lose his cool, but here he was looking around every corner as if we were about to get hit by a raging bull. "It wouldn't do well for us to get caught now."

"Ah, now that's a shame."

He was standing ahead of us, leaning on the wall, carefree smirk firmly in place as always. I must say, it was pretty daring of Carriedo to show his face just like that. Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought so either since Alfred took a step in front of me and I felt the entire group tense up even more.

"Now this isn't a very warm welcome, is it?" He sniggered, lifting up his pistol and pretending to examine it. "Didn't we all work together until not long ago?"

None of us spoke. I wouldn't have liked anything more than to wipe that smirk off of his stupid Spanish face, and from the looks of it, Alfred was thinking something along the same lines. He was clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles had turned white, and I don't think I've ever seen him glare so hard at someone before.

Carriedo chuckled, shaking his head at the sight of us. "I see that trying to make civil conversation isn't going to work. Did you really think you could get in here without us knowing? They've been keeping taps on Honda's phone and email ever since he got back here. And Jones, do you really think it wise to shield dear old Arthur? It's you who Wang wants dead, and I'd be all too happy to oblige him. Though I wonder if anyone is willing to take a bullet for you this time."

I don't think anyone quite knew who had moved first. It was as though Alfred and I had blinked and opened our eyes to find two other people in front of us, blocking Antonio from getting anywhere near us.

Bonnefoy and Gilbert were facing off with Carriedo, neither one of them breaking their eye contact with him.

It was almost surreal, seeing the three people who had so easily gotten along (even if Carriedo had been pretending) and acted like idiots together, glaring down their noses at each other, nothing short of loathing in their eyes.

"I stand corrected." I don't think Carriedo's smirk could have gotten any bigger, even if his eyebrows had risen slightly. "And surprised. And here I thought we were friends."

"We stopped being friends the moment you shot Kirkland." Gilbert growled, and I could see his hand twitching towards the gun hidden in his belt.

"And since when did you care about our Mr Kirkland?" I don't think I was the only one sick to my stomach of Carriedo's sniggering.

"I think it's more because you were _trying_ to shoot Alfred, no?" Bonnefoy's another one I wouldn't mind permanently shoving a sock down his throat (even if we are supposed to be working together). "We do not take kindly to betrayal, Antonio."

The smile had vanished from Carriedo's face. I don't think I've ever seen him look so serious. He took to surveying out group, taking time to look each of us up and down, save Beilschmidt (who still seemed to intimidate him, unsurprisingly), his gaze finally resting on Vargas's grandson, standing at the back behind the youngest Beilschmidt.

"We predicted as such." He sighed, attempting to take a step forward, but blocked by Gilbert. "I was told to give you one chance to cooperate or things will have to get violent."

This time he did look at Beilschmidt, as if daring him to say no.

"My Boss would very much like his grandson back." He went on, taking our silence as a good sign, but the mention of Vargas's grandson wasn't taken well by all the group. Beilschmidt's youngest grandson moved completely in front of him, positively glaring at Antonio. "Now, now, a least hear me out." The smirk was back, almost sadistically. "All you have to do is return Feliciano and we'll let the rest of you leave quietly. He won't be hurt. On the contrary, he's very much missed. It's a fair deal. So, what do you say? Feli?" He smiled, "You want to see your grandpa and Lovino again?"

Feliciano shrunk back under Carriedo's gaze, failing miserably at his attempts to disappear from sight. I'd never really met him before now, only ever caught glimpses before he disappeared from Vargas's side. He was, however, just as much of a coward as ever. He made an almost whimpering noise, before disappearing completely behind the taller German and clinging onto the material of his jacket.

"You know, Antonio," Bonnefoy's voice made all of us jump (even Beilschmidt jerked his head up). He had moved behind Carriedo while this rest of us had been distracted and had placed the barrel of his pistol carefully behind the Spaniard's neck, "you really should pay attention to what's right in front of your eyes."

There was a whacking sound, and Carriedo fell to the ground, a lump already beginning to appear on the back of his head where Bonnefoy had hit him with the handle of the gun. I think it's the first time I've ever thought that sparing someone's life wasn't weakness. I suppose I've spent too much time with Alfred.

"Nice one." Gilbert clapped Bonnefoy over the shoulder as Bonnefoy replaced the gun in his belt, not taking his eyes off the still figure at their feet until he seemed absolutely sure that he wasn't going to jump back up again. "Vati, you'd better get going or there won't be anyone left in the building. Me and Francis will keep an eye on this ass."

"Very well." Beilschmidt nodded, moving past the rest of us to continue down the corridor, Ludwig and Feliciano following close behind him.

"Hey, West." Gilbert grabbed his brother's arm, grinning. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Wouldn't dream of it." I saw a small smile flicker on the younger brother's features before he lead Feliciano after his grandfather.

Honda looked around the group, his eyes resting on Alfred and I for the longest before he rushed off after Beilschmidt, still hurriedly checking around each corner before continuing to our destination.

I still found myself looking down at Carriedo's unconscious form on the floor. He'd never gone down so easily. He's too slippery. If I didn't know better, I would've thought that he wanted to get taken down.

But I know better.

"If he tries anything – anything fishy – point and shoot him in the head. Don't give him the chance to do the same to you." I shoved the gun back into Bonnefoy's hand, aiming it at Carriedo's forehead. "Don't miss. He won't."

Alfred and I sprinted down after the others, turning several corners before we found them waiting for us in the stairwell.

We ran up, reaching the third floor relatively quickly considering we had a certain gutless Italian with us, who had the stamina of a child, moaning that he was out of breath and to carry on without him. Idiot, he's the key to the whole bloody operation!

According to the information Honda had given us, they would be meeting somewhere along this corridor, and, hopefully, that wouldn't have changed seeing as they expected Antonio to stop us from getting any further than the ground floor. We were relying on luck. Not the best of ideas really, but it was all that we had.

Honda was evidently thinking the same thing and took the lead ahead of Beilschmidt again, while Ludwig practically dragged Feliciano after him with Alfred and I bringing up the rear. We were all jumpier than ever (especially Feliciano, who was jumpy anyway), jerking around at the slightest of noises, expecting someone to appear and kill us all.

But that didn't happen.

Quite to the contrary, in fact, we managed to creep our way along the corridor until we reached the correct door without any further interruptions. Honda had backed up against the doorframe, signalling for us to do the same and we were only too glad to comply. All except Beilschmidt, that is, who stood in full view of the door. We all knew that he wanted to be the first person to step foot in front of Vargas.

I felt the group collectively hold their breath, waiting for the moment when Honda pushed the door open to reveal the occupants of the room beyond it. Indeed, even he was hesitating, waiting for Beilschmidt to give him the signal to continue. And when the simple nod of the head came, he pressed down the handle and let the door swing open.

I don't know what we were expecting. Shouting? Gunshots? Some sort of conflict at the very least, I suppose. But that was not what we were greeted with. Instead there was silence as Beilscmidt stood stock still, his eyes boring into the group of people standing inside the small conference room.

Wang had evidently been in deep conversation with Vargas when we had interrupted and was now meeting Beilschmidt's gaze, fixing him with an expression that was almost quizzical. It was as if he was amused by the circumstances of our arrival.

Vargas, on the other hand, looked furious. In all the time I had spent working for him, I don't think I'd ever seen him look that angry. We could almost see him shaking and if Wang hadn't placed a careful hand on the Italian's arm, preventing him from reaching inside his coat to retrieve what was undoubtedly his own firearm.

And all the while Beilschmidt carried on just staring into the room, seemingly unfazed by the sight that was in front of him.

"It seems as if Carriedo failed to stop them." Wang spoke, looking up at Vargas and releasing his arm. "Well I suppose it wouldn't have been nearly as interesting if he had succeeded." He stood, walking around the table so that he was only standing a few feet away from Beilschmidt. "Albert Beilschmidt, am I right? I have heard many things about you. I'm afraid that you have been quite problematic for me and my work, aru."

"Isn't it a reporter's job to investigate and bring their findings to the public's attention?" Beilschmidt replied quite calmly, still scanning the room.

"Ah yes." Wang's shrugged, as if to brush off Beilschmidt's comment. "But I would rather that my business was not made public, aru."

He motioned to someone in the corner of the room that I could not see from my place at the doorframe, but it was obvious who it was. And sure enough, the Russian, Braginski, moved into view, his hand already on the gun in his belt.

"If I may, Director." Vargas interrupted, stepping forward and in front of Braginski, effectively blocking his line of sight from Beilschmidt. "I would like to deal with that man myself."

"I've given you plenty of opportunities to deal with him, Vargas." Wang snapped, the smile vanishing from his face as he addressed Vargas.

"But I must insist." There was a sadistic look in Vargas's eye, utterly different from the usually, laid back attitude he took to his work. I had never seen him look so much like he wanted to hurt someone. "You see, I promised Albert a long time ago that I would be the one to deal with him. And I plan to keep that promise."

"You plan to follow up on our last meeting then?" If there was any hint of a smile on Beilschmidt's face, it was gone before I could look twice. He looked as serious as always, as if completely unaffected by Vargas's threat.

"I also promised not to miss." This time Vargas was not prevented from pulling out his gun, aiming it at Beilschmidt's forehead.

"You'd be dead before you'd pulled the trigger." I'd had enough. What's the use of doing all this only to have a key figure in the plan get killed at the first hurdle? Now Vargas wasn't the only one pointing a gun at someone's head. I was as well. And I was pointing at his.

"Ah, now this _is_ interesting, aru." Wang smirked, looking between Vargas and myself. He set himself back down in his chair, waving Braginski back. "It seems all of your ex-associates have decided to grace us with their presence, Vargas. Aren't you happy?"

Vargas didn't reply. He just glared at the two of us in front of him, the hand on his gun twitching in his rage.

"But of course!" Wang continued, clasping his hands together. "Where's the rest of the team? Do not tell me that they are not prepared to show themselves?"

"Don't treat us like cowards." Alfred had appeared at my side, his face looking dark despite the fact that the morning sun had now risen and was shining brightly through the window opposite us.

Honda was the next to show himself, sliding around the doorframe and not meeting his cousin's eyes. He had gone oddly pale, and I am almost positive that he would not have made his presence know if Alfred had not already done so.

Which left only Ludwig and Feliciano still hidden on the other side of the wall. Waiting until it was absolutely necessary to appear before the group.

"I never meant to question your bravery, Jones." Wang chuckled, leaning forward in his chair and surveying us, "I am simply astounded by the company that my dear Kiku continues to insist on keeping. I must say, it is not profitable for me, aru."

"Who cares if it's not fucking _profitable_." Alfred seethed next to me, foolishly taking everything Wang said to heart.

Vargas was still glaring daggers at Beilschmidt, not seeming to notice the row going on around him, or the barrel of the gun I was pointing at his head. Even as Beilschmidt turned and said to Alfred to calm down his eyes followed him, not blinking. I suppose it is this attitude that makes him so feared to those who get on the wrong side of him.

He was so silent in his anger that when he did eventually speak the whole room seemed to start, Alfred and Honda seeming to have forgotten that he was even there. "Tell me, Albert," his voice was dangerously low, "where is my grandson?"

Beilschmidt sighed, closing his eyes for a long moment, "Julius, this foolishness has gone on far enough –"

"Tell me where he is, or I swear right now that I will blow your brains out!" Vargas yelled, breathing heavily, reinforcing his grip on his firearm. "I've seen your plans! You said you were bringing Feliciano here, now where is he?"

But Beilschmidt seemed unfazed by this, even taking a step closer to the man that was pointing a gun at his forehead. "You need to calm yourself, Julius. This violence will achieve nothing."

"It will bring me satisfaction, if nothing else!"

"No, it will not, and you know this." I couldn't believe that Beilschmidt was daring to move closer to Vargas. He had a kind of sad smile playing on his features, as if he had expected this all to happen, even if he had not mentioned it to any of us in our meetings. "If you kill me, then you know very well that my own grandson will take yours as far away from this place as possible so as to protect him from the world that you have buried yourself in. I have come to offer you a way out, so that you never need to resort to such petty dealings again, I promise you."

"I don't need your promises." Vargas spat, the barrel of his gun practically pressing against Beilschmidt's forehead now. "You've betrayed my trust too many times for me to believe you now. So, I suppose this is goodbye, Albert."

Beilschmidt didn't say anything. He just carried on staring straight at the man in front of him, holding an air of acceptance that had caused even Wang to look slightly taken aback.

And then the silence was broken by what sounded like a yelp and a small crash as a figure smacked into the doorframe looking utterly shell-shocked. And it was the appearance of Feliciano that surprised Vargas enough that instead of pulling the trigger, as I am sure he intended to do, he dropped his gun altogether, letting it thud to the floor as he gawked at his grandson.

"Don't shoot him, grandpa!" Feliciano was shaking from head to foot, his eyes darting from person to person within the office before they finally rested on his grandfather again. "You can't!"

He looked like he wanted to vanish, clutching his hands together and staying resolutely by the door, despite having seen his own grandfather for the first time since he had left.

Even Vargas himself looked beyond words, simply mouthing Feliciano's name, but with no sound coming out. I think this is the only time I have ever truly seen him struck dumb.

And then it seemed to break, and Vargas hurried forward and literally enveloped Feliciano in what looked very much like a hug that would actually break the poor boy's ribs (and by the way he yelped again, I thought for a moment that he actually had). But, after a moment, Feliciano seemed to grin, and returned the gesture, looking behind him slightly to where Ludwig was now standing, still looking as worried as ever.

"Grandpa, I promise, they've looked after me, and treated me properly, and everything." He smiled at Beilschmidt, pulling back so that he could look at Vargas properly. "I don't have to do any work, and they let me eat pasta. And, Grandpa, I'm happy. Really happy. Ludwig is always looking out for me. He's really, _really_ nice. So don't be mad at them, okay?"

Vargas stared between Feliciano and Ludwig, the sheer madness of the whole situation seemingly catching up with him, and for once, he seemed at a loss for what to do.

He looked at Feliciano again, sighed, and then turned back to Beilschmidt. "You swear that you never touched a hair on his head?"

"I would never have dreamed of doing so much."

"Well this is all very touching," Wang finally spoke up, looking extremely bored, "but all this sentimental nonsense is distracting us all from the matter at hand."

"Yes, yes." Vargas stooped to pick his gun back up, the small smile that had appeared on his face vanishing again. "I was just getting to that."

He stood, glancing round at Wang briefly before raising the gun straight at me, the look of fury gracing his features once more.

"I hired you to do a job, Kirkland." He growled, ignoring Feliciano's squeak as the boy was pulled back by Ludwig. "And not only did you fail to complete it, you didn't even have the grace to die when we caught you. However you may look at it, I find this quite a sizable betrayal."

I should have guessed that it would have been a likely occurrence for me to have a gun pointed at me again. After all, this had been my job for the past two years. But still, having the barrel of a gun shoved in your face isn't the most pleasant of experiences, I must say.

The hand that was holding my own firearm twitched annoyingly, a reflex I had unfortunately picked up over the last couple of years when faced with something like this, but I wasn't going to resort to Vargas's violent antics. Not yet, anyway.

"And so, we come to this." Vargas finished, smirking at me.

"No!" Alfred yelled, practically leaping forward before I held up a hand to stop him. "Arthur, you can't-!"

"Stay where you are, Alfred." I tried to keep my voice steady, trying to think of what I had to do next.

The room had fallen silent. Even Vargas seemed to be waiting for me to react, to say _something_. And yes, I was going to. But I had to word it all just right, otherwise it wouldn't work.

"I seem to remember it was more blackmail than hiring." I spoke as calmly as I could, staring Vargas down. "And when it comes down to it, I am quite tired of this little situation that you have tried to pin me to."

"You've only ever been out to save your own skin, Kirkland, or you would have never taken my threats seriously. You would have died two years ago for poking your nose where it wasn't welcome if you hadn't been smart enough to agree to work for me." Vargas sneered at me, obviously not taking me seriously.

"Then make a deal with me." This time it was my turn to leer over at him. "If I finish this God forsaken job of yours, you'll let me leave here and will never show your face near me again, and in turn I'll never get involved with anything concerning you again."

"Arthur, what are you doing?" Alfred sounded worried behind me, clearly not liking how I was dealing with the situation.

"Do we have a deal, Vargas?" I ignored him, not wanting to give anything away to either party.

"You swear you will never utter a word about any of this to anyone." Vargas sounded uncertain, but didn't move the gun away from my face.

"You have my word."

Beilschmidt was looking at me now, searching my face for some inkling of what I was doing, before he spoke. "If you actually carry this out, Kirkland, you will not get away with it. You cannot silence everyone here, I assure you."

"If you want to keep your head, Albert, then I recommend that you keep your mouth shut." Vargas spat behind him. "Fine, Kirkland. If you finish your task then I'll let you leave. But if you ask me, this all sounds like hot air."

"Does it really?" I frowned, slipping my free hand into my pocket, "Well then."

I turned around fast, pointing my own gun straight at Alfred, only taking a short moment to take in the utterly stunned look on his face.

The bang filled the room.

Feliciano let out another small scream and someone else had shouted, but the only thing I could see was the look on Alfred's face as he looked down at the scarlet stain blooming on his chest, then met my gaze, eyes wide with silent shock before he fell limply to the floor.

I let my arm fall back down to my side, still watching Alfred as Honda rushed to his side, looking between me and Alfred's now closed eyes, utter horror etched all over his face.

I looked around the rest of the room, half expecting some kind of uproar.

Vargas looked a little surprised in front of Beilschmidt, who had gone slightly pale, what could have been either mild shock or disappointment showing on his face. Feliciano had hidden himself in Ludwig's chest while the German looked just plain angry. Wang, on the other hand, was looking supremely smug, exchanging looks with that blasted Russian.

I just felt sick. Standing there with my arms hanging at my sides, trying to keep a cool head and not betray that it felt like my stomach was doing backflips.

Honda was muttering something about trying to find a pulse, groping desperately at Alfred's wrists and pressed down when he finally found the right place. He sat there in silence for a few moments before he looked up at me, his eyes wide with the understanding of what I had just done.

I stared down at the floor instead, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes, and wishing the bile in my throat would vanish.

I didn't even flinch when Wang clapped his hands together behind me, standing up and just from the tone of his voice I could tell he was still smiling. "Well, that takes care of him, aru." He let out a short laugh. "You can leave now, if you wish, though if you want to take out Mr Beilschmidt on your way, you would be more than welcome-!"

I turned, glaring at him, firing just past his head so that the bullet smashed the window behind him. Wang, not expecting my sudden attack, practically threw himself to the floor as Braginski hurtled himself in front of him.

I was seething. My shoulders rising and falling with each breath and my hand shaking on the gun that I was still pointing at the space next to where Wang's head had been moments before.

I couldn't take it. The very idea of shooting Alfred and being praised for it made me feel like vomiting. And now I had that fucking Russian pointing whatever sort of gun he'd gotten his hands on at me with one hand, and held a long iron pipe in the other.

Wang stood back up, his expression cold as he glared at me. "I think Mr Kirkland wants to leave. Take care of him, will you, Ivan?"

Braginski smiled, looking like a child at Christmas who had just opened the best present under the tree. He crossed around the table, ignoring everyone else in the room until he stood right in front of me, raised the bar, and I ducked, kicking him in the shins as I dodged around him and pushed him back into the table and chairs.

Wang shouted his instructions, fuming with rage as the Russian chased me around the small space, shoving the others out of his way as I ran around them and back out of the room, sprinting into the corridor as fast as I could.

And then another shot rang out, and Braginski's leg gave way as blood rushed out of the wound he had gotten, Beilschmidt holding his gun out in front of him.

But still Braginski tried to take aim at me, even while he was immobile on the ground, not letting me get near enough to knock the damned thing out of his hand, because every time I tried he took another swing at me with the pipe. I could only breathe a sigh of relief when Ludwig appear behind him, taking a shift kick at the back of the giant man's head, and effectively rendering him out-cold.

Vargas was now also steering Feliciano out of the room, shoving him towards Ludwig as Wang started shooting towards them all, barely missing Beilschmidt as he shot back at him.

Everything was a mess. So much as that Honda had taken to attempting to shield Alfred's body from the bits of broken glass and debris that were now flying around the room as each shot missed.

And then there was a sound a triumph, and Vargas let out a bark of protest as Beilschmidt dropped his gun, collapsing to his knees, holding one hand over his abdomen, a red blotch spreading out from under it.

Ludwig roared with anger and was pulled back by Vargas as he tried to run back into the room to help his grandfather. While they were struggling against each other I rushed back inside, hating every moment that I had to look at Wang's smirk as he made his way around the table again, ignoring his cousin, who had sat back up again, looking horrified.

And then something Wang had not seen coming happened.

As he passed Honda, a hand shot out and grabbed his ankle, pulling him to the ground and holding him there as I made my way forward.

Honda sighed slightly as I stood over them, smirking down at Wang and following the arm back to where Alfred was now sitting, looking very pleased with himself.

"Do you know how hard it is to pretend to be dead when everyone's running around like that?" He whined, looking up at me, "I swear you nearly trod on me five times."

"You shouldn't have been in the way then." I rolled my eyes, nudging Wang with my foot. "Don't look so shocked. Did you honestly think I had killed him?"

"But there was no pulse." Wang groaned, trying to sit back up, but was forced back down by Honda, who now had hold of both of his cousin's wrists.

"I never said he didn't have a pulse." Honda smiled. "You really must learn not to make assumptions, cousin."

Wang cursed, glaring at the three of us, still making feeble attempts to break free of the other two's grasp.

"Is Beilschmidt okay?" I stepped over Wang, looking back over to the rest of the group, where Vargas was now looking over Beilschmidt's wound, trying not to increase the bleeding.

"I'll live." The German groaned, trying to stand up, but being forced back down by Vargas.

"You need to go to the hospital."

Beilschmidt stayed silent, though he looked like he wanted to argue. Vargas stood back up, making room for Ludwig to sit with his grandfather, while he pulled out his mobile and started making phonecalls.

I sat down against the wall, eyeing where Wang was now moodily lying, still being held down.

"Arthur." Alfred spoke, glancing over at me.

I grunted, closing my eyes in reply. "What?"

"You could've told me you were gonna put a blood-pack in my pocket." I could tell he was pouting, or pretending to anyway. "I liked this shirt."

I huffed, feeling myself smile despite myself. "Git. If you liked the shirt so much then why the bloody hell did you wear it today of all days?"

"Well, I didn't expect to get covered in whosever's blood this is."

Honda was chuckling next to me, completely ignoring his cousin now. "Well, let's think about it, Alfred. If I'd told you I was going to pretend to shoot you," I pulled out the sound recorder from my pocket and tossed it at him, "then I wouldn't have been able to see everyone's stunned faces, would I? And I must say, yours was utterly priceless, love."

•••

It's been nine months since then.

I can't remember what entry this is supposed to be. But that hardly matters now.

So many things have happened since that it's hard to keep track of all the little things anymore.

I'll start with what happened straight afterwards.

The police arrived with the ambulance that Vargas had called for Beilschmidt and took away Wang and Braginski. I think Vargas had resigned himself to being arrested with them, because he looked in utter dismay when they simply overlooked him. I reckon it was because of Beilschmidt's influence. After all, he had offered Vargas a way out, and now he was giving it to him.

Beilschmidt was rushed to the hospital, Ludwig and Gilbert crammed in the back of the ambulance with him, and the rest of us were left to pick up the pieces and be questioned by the police for our involvement. Vargas and Carriedo somehow got missed out, despite the fact that Bonnefoy and Gilbert had still been holding the Spaniard down when the police arrived. I suppose this shows just how much influence the German had.

When we all went our separate ways that night, myself and Alfred going back to his apartment, Bonnefoy going back to explain things to Edelstein and the rest of the team that had helped with planning everything, and Feliciano took Vargas and Carriedo back to where he had been staying with Ludwig, none of us really knew whether we had actually done what we had set out to do.

Vargas was the most confused out of all of us, I think. In the split second that he had chosen to protect his grandson, instead of helping Wang, he had chosen his side, even if he hadn't meant to. But it was that move that saved him from being arrested like the other two.

Beilschmidt died the next morning.

His wound had been more serious than we had thought. The hospital staff said that the bullet had caused more internal damage than they had originally anticipated and said that his age was a big factor to how fast he went downhill after he arrived in intensive care.

I think apart from Ludwig and Gilbert, it hit Vargas the hardest. Despite all of his threats of killing him, I don't think he ever really meant it to happen. Even in the months that have past, he's not really moved forward. The people at the paper are calling it his retirement. Saying that his age has finally caught up with him. But in reality he is blaming himself for Beilschmidt's death, I'm sure.

Edelstein took over as editor for the paper, deciding that after everything, it would be best that the only thing we mentioned about the entire case would be that Wang and his subordinates had been arrested and convicted of running his drug farms and for Karpusi's murder. The police never linked any of it to Vargas and his business, so why should we.

Alfred carried on writing for the case, and I pitched in here and there, helping with the more formal details of the court trials and the sentencing. They wanted me to write more for it, but I think after all this, Alfred deserves his moment of glory. After all, now that Wang has actually been arrested, all the other papers are after a piece of the scoop that we created. This is his moment and in the months that have passed since the day when Beilschmidt passed, I think Alfred has finally recognised his own potential and is really starting to shine in his work.

And after everything, I am writing again. Not for the paper, as Alfred practically begged me to (according to him, he didn't _'beg'_ because he's too _'awesomely heroic'_ for that. I say he's an idiot. But each to our own.), but for myself. Admittedly, it's harder than before, when I think my passion for reporting outweighed my sense of self-security. I suppose, that is to say, I was more like Alfred back then. No sense of responsibility and zero common sense. (Ow. Alfred. That just proves my point, doesn't it?)

I sometimes write a bit alongside Alfred, if they need me to. It doesn't pay badly, so I don't complain. But I just don't think the journalism world is for me anymore. With everything that has happened to me in the last couple of years, I just don't think I can go back into that train of thought anymore. It's exhausting.

But that being said, I can never really escape from it completely. Not now that Alfred has insisted that I remain living with him. He seems to think it unwise for me to be left alone anymore, even though I have continuously told him that I am not a child and that I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.

Though… I suppose I don't mind having the company. Even if that company is somewhat like a baboon let loose on the world. But then, if he wasn't how he is, then maybe I would have actually gone ahead and finished the job that I originally came here to do. Maybe he wouldn't be standing here behind me, complaining that I just called him a baboon.

If Alfred wasn't the way he is, then I would probably still be stuck in the mind-set that the world is a cruel place where you only have yourself and no one can save you from the idiotic things that you do to yourself. But meeting him, getting to know him, and well… you know… I think I'm a little more like how I was before I met Vargas. Not as stupidly idealistic as Alfred, and God forbid that I start prancing around, eating burgers all day, like he does, but I know that the world isn't as harsh as I thought.

I think that maybe, if we keep going in this direction, then we may actually be able to get to a good place, with Alfred working at the paper, and me, well, I'll carry on writing here and maybe I'll make something of myself again. Whatever Alfred says about me acting old, I'm still a man in my twenties. There's still time left to pick up the pieces, and this time I have help, even if that help is annoying at times. But I wouldn't trade him. Not after everything we went through. The scar on my shoulder is a reminder of that.

So yes, we'll keep moving, keep writing, and just keep going until we find a place in our lives when the worries have disappeared and we can just live being happy with what we've got.

That's what I am hoping for, at least.

* * *

_**[A/N:**_

_I am so sorry for the late update guys!_

_I bet you all thought I was dead or something... if there's anyone left out there ._

_Remember how I said a little while back that I had writer's block? Yeah... that kinda came back but even worse this time. I got about 4000 words into this and then just couldn't carry on writing. _

_It was only when the very lovely Loopstagirl got me in the mood for writing over the last couple of days that I actually opened the file again after months of just letting it collect dust. (Go and check out her fics! She's amazing~ [/end plug lol])_

_But yeah, that's the end guys. I said right from the start that this would be a short fic... but then this chapter ended up being nearly 9000 words long... which is pretty much the same length as the other two chapters put together... oops... XD Yeah, I guess you could say that I seriously got my mojo back when I was finishing this off over the last couple of days ^^;;_

_I hope you guys liked following this. I'm sorry again that it took me so long to get it done. I wanted to get it done sooner, but yeah, these things happen I guess. (I even tried writing this while I was on holiday back in August, but nooo... stupid block...)_

_My next fic is going to be a pirate!England AU, so look out for it, okay? =D I've also got a highschool!AU planned which I'll be doing on and off via my tumblr just to give me breaks from doing other stuff. I'll try to update more regularly this time though~_

_Thanks for staying with me, lovies~! I love you all!**]**  
_


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